What Makes a Man: Confrontations
by SilkenNightmare
Summary: Young Rufus and his father have a bit of an arguement. No cursing or violence, just yelling. A bit sad.


Disclaimer: I don't own the characters, shocking isn't it?  
AN: 3rd in series. Rufus and his father have a little fight. I admit, it's a fairly sad sequel to War. I try to make all the stories self-sufficient, so reading in the other in the series shouldn't be neccisary (although I'd like you to). I put Rufus at about 12 in this one.   
  


  


What Makes a Man: Confrontation  
  


  
  
_"But if your hopes should pass away, simply pretend, that you can build them again,"_-Paul Simon, Art Garfunkle, Hazy Shade of Winter  
  


  
  
His bare hands gently smoothed the damp ridge of clay. Soft blue eyes peered at the contours of the structure. He wet his fingers and ran them over the delicate tail. Leaning back, he looked at it appreciatively, "What do you think, Tseng?" Rufus craned around to look questioningly at his bodyguard/babysitter.   
  
"The left wing is drooping."  
  
"Huh?" Rufus whirled back to the figure, leaning in close to study the wing. "Hmmm," he crept up another inch, so that his nose nearly brushed the soft clay, and gently nudged the wing back up. "Better?" he queried, not turning.   
  
Tseng smiled behind him, "Much."  
  
"Good," Rufus lovingly daubed a bit more clay onto the wing, smoothing it carefully, until it blended in neatly with the rest of the structure.  
  
"So," Tseng started, amusement on his face," did you just wake up feeling arty, or does this have some deep significance?"   
  
Rufus rocked back on his heels and smiled up and the young man, "Deep significance, the leprechauns in my sock drawer told me I had to make something before sundown and gift it to them on an alter of paper-mache, or I would remain short forever... and they'd eat my socks."   
  
Tseng narrowed his eyes, lips twisting in a smile of amused surprise. He looked closely at Rufus, taking in the oversized shirt, one sleeve rolled up, other hanging to the ground, the smudges of clay on his cheek and over his eye, the happy expression adorning his face… Tseng realized with a bit of a start that for once the boy looked to be just that, an innocent child.   
  
"I see."   
  
"My predicament? Then I guess you won't mind putting this in the kiln for me?" Rufus nodded to his finished statuette.   
  
"No, I see your ever growing insanity. However, I suppose I could set your little project to bake."   
  
"Thanks, Tseng," Rufus beamed at clay dragon before him, he had used fine wire for the frame, and checked for air pockets twice. After four hours of work he was not going to risk it exploding, "I can't wait to paint it." He closed his eyes, pride and childish ecstasy on his face.   
  
And that was when his father walked into the room, a young boy slinking after him. For a moment time held, as if fighting against or catching up with the sudden atmosphere change. President Shinra stared at the scene in this moment, his clay stained son kneeling on the filthy floor a frozen look caught between happiness and fear, the young turk standing behind him, smiling slightly. And some damp gray thing with what looked like wings sitting before them both.   
  
The moment ended, and time moved once more.   
  
"RUFUS!!!!!!! WHAT DO YOU THINK YOUR DOING?!!!"   
  
"I'm playing, Father." The young Shinra looked up at the older one, staring into his eyes.   
  
"I TOLD you yesterday." The man snarled, rage barely contained, "We are going out to lunch with Mr. Desmond and his wife! Remember, Rufus?! Mr. Desmond, from Desmond's Home Defense and Fire Arms?! THE ONE I'M SUPPOSED TO BE SIGNING A CONTRACT WITH IN 2 HOURS!!!!" the man strode across the room, rage painted across his face in a red haze.   
  
Rufus didn't flinch, "I- I'm sorry, Father, I must have forgotten." He hadn't forgotten, but apparently whoever was supposed to deliver the message had, Rufus and his father rarely spoke to each other, any necessary words traveled through a courier. Like we're two separate countries, with a fragile alliance, Rufus thought, mildly amused, but bitterness was quickly rising to the surface.   
  
"Christ, Rufus!" President Shinra, took a deep breath and clenched his fists. "Just, just get changed, NOW!"  
  
Rufus nodded, and climbed to his feet, then carefully picked up his dragon, meaning to hand it to Tseng, who still remained, silent during the exchange.  
  
It was a mistake. The old man's hand snapped out and smashed the clay figure across the room.  
  
Rufus' eyes followed its flight, pain flaring briefly on his face when it collided with the wall. The force tore off one leg and knocked out the gold button eyes, which had been taken from one of Tseng's extra coats. Its head crumpled in, forming a misshapen lump.   
  
Rufus looked up at his father, who was very near growling. "I'll-I'll meet you in the living room, I- I just need a moment to change…"  
  
"Make it fast," His father snarled, open hand still raised as if to strike. "Come on," He half turned and yanked the boy who had entered with him, an errand runner Rufus presumed, roughly by the collar.  
  
"Yessir," The boy mumbled, and followed after.  
  
The door slammed shut behind them.  
  
Rufus remained still, gazing at his destroyed dragon. He sighed, "I wish he would just hit me," he said softly. "I wish he'd just hit me and be done with it."   
  
Tseng allowed a look of sympathy to cross his face, "Would you like me to get it?" he asked, just barely gesturing to the clay mess slumped against the wall.   
  
"No, Tseng. No," Rufus smiled, but there was a bruised look in his eyes. "I suppose I'll just have to go without socks for a while..."  
  
  



End file.
